Dysfunctional
by Dread Pirate Rinja
Summary: Because that’s just the way things turned out. Future!ficlet, HitsuHina...ish.


_Disclaimer: All things Bleach belong to the amazing Kubo Tite-sama._

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_Err, don't ask me what I was thinking when I wrote this. I'm still not sure. XD; Written and posted entirely on a whim at an ungodly hour of the day; please forgive all the strangeness and the errors I'm sure are present in the writing. I might delete this later. Blah._

_Rating for language._

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**Dysfunctional**

There were days that Hitsugaya wished he could hand back the white captain's cloak and all the responsibility that went with it. This was one of those days. But he was far too logical to ever seriously act upon that impulse. Damn his sense of duty and propriety. Damn his subordinates for looking up to him so much, and goddamn Aizen for screwing _everything_ over six ways to Sunday, and then some.

Everything was much simpler back in Rukongai, he decided. And the other half of him was telling him, no shit. Then again, life was always much simpler through a child's eyes ­– everything in black and white and free of life's burdens. But he already told her that he was no longer a child, and he wasn't. Not after what he'd seen.

Neither was she, though sometimes he couldn't help but treat her as such. She was fragile both physically and mentally, as was he, but at the same time he couldn't help but think about how messed up the whole situation was, even after it was actually over. While it was over, it still wasn't over.

And it was _damned_ confusing.

He'd grown taller, and somehow that made him feel ancient, even if he already was ancient by human standards. He led battle in a war, bled, and half-died for a cause he wasn't sure was in the right. Where there was once black and white, there later were thousands of shades of grey and the burdens are heavy. The war was supposed to bring an end to the grudges, the broken spirits and fouled up relationships.

If it had done that, then why had Hinamori come into his office in tears that morning, and then left without saying a word? Deep down, he knew the answer to that question, but was almost afraid to answer it for himself.

Ichigo was still in a coma, even three weeks later. Ichigo had been the one to finish off Aizen in the end, but not without great cost to himself. Though Unohana was steadfastly optimistic about his condition, the fact that he had yet to wake up was weighing down on everyone. The fallen hero complex, Hitsugaya decided. Even he felt that much. Ichigo had saved his life in the fray, and he owed him at least a word of thanks, at the very least.

In the end, Matsumoto had been unable to kill Ichimaru Gin, even after she was given the chance to. Even Gin had given her several openings – the bastard had to have been testing her – before he'd cut her down. Hitsugaya hadn't been fast enough to stop it, and now he had her blood on his hands. The look in her eyes when she'd fallen had nearly killed him, just before he flew into a rage and proceeded to resume the long-awaited rematch against Gin. No trump cards, this time. And after taking several blows, he'd won… and then immediately lost, when Aizen had attacked him from behind and nearly delivered the final blow. Ichigo had been there to stop it. After that, he didn't remember much until he'd come to in what was left of the fourth division's care.

Matsumoto had not been the only casualty in that battle. All of the deserters. Kira. Komamura. Even Yamamoto-taichou had been struck down, leaving the gaping maw of a power vacuum at the head of the shattered Gotei 13. While Aizen had lost in the end, he had also won.

Hinamori hadn't been there to see Aizen's death, for which Hitsugaya was grateful. She might have tried to finish off Ichigo had she seen it.

At first, Hinamori had been angry at him for not having stopped the fight, or for his lack of effort to 'save' Aizen. No amount of explaining had her understand then that Aizen had been too far gone for far too long, and that there was nothing they could have done to change him. He wasn't the Aizen she knew – never was, for that matter. And for a while, she resented Hitsugaya, and hadn't bothered to visit him while he was laying immobilized in the fourth division. He hadn't expected her to either, not after he had argued with her just before the war began about how he _knew _that it was either their lives or Aizen's, and most certainly not after his on-and-off again relationship with Matsumoto, who still had had feelings for Gin after all.

Two days before his release, however, Hinamori had shown up at his hospital room with puffy, red-rimmed eyes and a bouquet of flowers. He was even more surprised when she had apologized and asked if they could have a chance to really _talk _soon.

Maybe that's why Hinamori was crying that morning when she had walked into his office. Part of him didn't blame her – even wanted to join her – but the other, more protective side of him told him to be patient, and that she would come back later. She did, and this time without a word, she came in and put her arms around Hitsugaya's neck, her hands fisting into the back of his kimono and pressing against still-tender wounds, but he would never flinch from her touch. Hitsugaya was so surprised that for several moments, he didn't say anything, and just put his arms around her to return the gesture and just let her lean her head into his shoulder.

A foreign feeling spread like fire in his gut, and this time he felt hollowed, like something had been painfully scraped away from the inside. Odd that they should seek solace in each other after spending almost the entire war arguing and trying to prove that they had moved on. They hadn't. In the end, they'd ended up right back in each others' arms.


End file.
